Woman of my life!
by Edlama
Summary: For Naruto, things are clear: the beautiful red headed woman he spot at Sasuke's party IS the woman of his life! But... there's a catch. AU, Crossdressing, NaruGaa
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. I whore the characters for free.**

**Note: Once again thanks to my awesome beta, CardcaptorEternity, who took the time to beta even though she's starting college and is consequently very busy! You rocks, Eternity-chou!**

**Warnings: CROSSDRESSING. There, in bolds. So if you don't turn back now and flame me later for that, I'll just laugh at you.**

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(Wo)man of my life !

"Give me that glass dobe, I don't want you drunk and embarrassing the hell out of me in front of my colleagues!"

Naruto let his best friend pry the drink away from his greedy fingers, but he glared all the same.

"Teme…" He growled "I need to be drunk to bear with all those stuck up asses." He let his gaze sweep contemptuously over the assembly of pompous gits he was locked with. Sabaku Corps, the company for which Sasuke worked or rather, slaved over, was holding a charity party. That meant that for one evening, the overly ambitious were locked with the overly wealthy… and the results were not pretty.

"I can't understand how you manage to do this on a regular basis." He added, referring to his best friend's social life. Despite his brooding, 'lone soldier' aura, Sasuke was one hell of a party animal.

"It doesn't matter." The Uchiha heir linked his arm with Naruto's and gave a fake smile and a nod to a passing couple. "You agreed to this, there's no weaseling out of it now. You say you never go back on your word, eh?"

"I agreed only because you told me there would be hot chicks!" He whispered back angrily.

The reception they were attending was the kind to which you HAVE to bring someone, preferably of a higher or similar social status. However, since Sasuke's current fuck buddy was an unknown artist with even worse manners than Naruto, the Uchiha heir had to resort to his best friend, who had the advantage of good looks, wealth and old name.

Naruto privately agreed that it was a wise move; Sai had very good looks too, but they were disturbingly similar to Sasuke's. The blond thought that said a lot about his best friend's narcissist tendencies.

The dark haired man gave an elegant shrug. "What are you complaining about? This place is loaded with beautiful women."

Naruto snorted, showing his meagre interest for the females present. True, they were all pretty, in that blond, fake and glittery way. But they were also Heir Hunters, using their cleavage as a weapon to ensnare any husband-to-be, and having been raised with some, he had seen enough of them in a lifetime.

Then there were also the stern business women, who did not care so much for a husband because they were married to their job anyway. But the only thing remotely glittery about them was the gleam of their very long and sharp teeth or the sparkle of ambition in their eyes. Naruto found them a bit frightening.

It didn't mean that Naruto disliked ambition within a woman. It was quite the contrary actually, but he valued it more when born from passion for the job and not the power it could bring, and when it left place for a certain independence of mind, like for Sakura-chan…

Oh, how it hurt to think of Sakura-chan…

He shook himself out of his thoughts just in time to realize that Sasuke had successfully steered him toward a bunch of flabby faced three-piece suits.

He had the time to swear colorfully to himself before entering the Lands of Boredom.

OOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOO

Nearly two hours after that, Naruto had managed to escape Sasuke's clutches and was gleefully well on his way to get thoroughly shit faced.

He watched with disinterest and through a thickening alcohol-induced fog as the clumps of penguins and leeches performed their social dances. He snorted at the image. Penguins and leeches, heh. Might be worth disrupting Sasuke of his intense ass-kissing session to share the joke.

But while mindlessly searching for the place where duck-butt was stuck, his eyes were stopped by a patch of white.

There, amidst the crowd, was a woman.

THE woman.

The white that had caught his gaze came from the smooth, pale skin of her back that her lacy black dress left exposed. Naruto felt his mouth go dry while he tried to follow the graceful line of her spine up to her long neck. She had short and messy hair of the most brilliant shade of red, and with all those business men in dark suits around her she looked like a rose lost in the middle of a black tulips field.

He eyed her hungrily, trying to take in all the elements of her appearance: her elegant silhouette, the one of an athletic woman but with angles tempered down by a short black dress with a red sash that accentuated her slim waist; her long, pale legs, striking with the discreet muscles they held. He studied her stature while she talked animatedly to the men around her: straight yet supple, reserved yet confident, vivacious yet defensive. He could not see her face, just the soft curve of her jaw, but he was sure it held as many wonders as her perfect body.

The Heavens seemed to be listening to his drunken prayers, because the woman (probably peeved by the unblinking stare drilling a hole through her back) finally turned around and _looked_ at him.

She was beautiful. His mind had the time to visualize the short, straight nose and small mouth before it was drowned into mesmerizing ice blue eyes. They were enchanting, not by their color (blue like the purest winter sky) or their brilliance (like diamonds of light deposited by the sun on the sea) or their shape (almond like…crap, he was running out of metaphors).

She was looking at him. Not merely glancing his way or worse, giving him the once over, but looking, really looking in his eyes. And there was something within her eyes, some expression that was calling him. It was the eyes of someone who had seen the worst life had to offer, and yet lived to tell the tale. The eyes of someone who was so used to fighting, it was ingrained in her. The eyes of someone who, despite being the center of a crowd focused on her, was alone.

Just like he was.

For a moment, he did not move or breathe, genuinely shocked to the core by _her_. But then, she finally turned her gaze away, and walked toward the buffet.

Still mesmerized, he floated toward her (or rather, drunkenly waddled in her direction), until he was at arms' length of his _angel_.

He needed to talk to her, to make her understand that he was the one for her, and she was the one for him.

"Maerry me!" he blurted.

The angel watched him from above the rim of her glass of Moët & Chandon. "Pardon?" she asked.

Naruto frowned. Damn, he needed to be more persuasive. He had to put the emphasis on how she had conquered her heart by a mere look, and how he'd cherish her forever if only she would allow him to love her.

"I luuuv you…maerry meee!" he drunkenly slurred.

The red head angel's eyes widened slightly before narrowing dangerously.

"You're completely wasted, stupid." She growled. She put her glass back on the table and turned as if to go away.

"No!" Naruto gasped. He couldn't let the woman of his life disappear just like that! He put his hand on her shoulder, ready to plead his case once more. He felt her back tense, and suddenly…

… he was flying?

The crash, when he landed on the buffet table that immediately collapsed under the assault, reverberated loudly in the reception hall and painfully through Naruto's back. Dazzled and soaked with champagne he looked up just in time to see a red Giambattista Valli stiletto heel descend on him.

The heel pressed on his throat, hard enough to prevent air to pass but not as to crush away any chance of breathing normally again.

His eyes followed the graceful ankle up to the hint of a milky thigh, and when the black dress covered the rest of those sinful legs, he attached his stare up to his angel's sneering face.

"Try to manhandle me one more time, _punk_, and I'll crush you!"

Naruto felt two happy tears slide out of his eyes. She was _perfect_.

She huffed, and abruptly turned away. In the movement, her black skirt rose and from his position, the blonde had the time to clearly see the whole of her legs –and garters that lead to two pale orbs, barely covered with intricate black lace.

One thought had the time to pass through his alcohol –and now, lust- fogged brain, before an ice sculpture decided it was not balanced enough and fell, knocking him out in the process.

She was no angel.

She was a _Goddess_.

TBC

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**Well, I know that I said that I won't be updated anything apart from 'Inner Obstacle' and there it is... what can I way? I'm a big fat liar. Oh and this is a rather short story: 3-4 chapters long, not more.**

**Next update… soon! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, last update before... a while. This**** story is written in a notebook (I have a lot of train to reach Uni), but with exams coming up I won't even have the time to type it. **

**Thanks again to Eternity-chou! She's beta-ing even if it takes her time away from college and sororororities hunting… you rocks!**

_Hahaha, thanks. I know you spelled that wrong on purpose...lol._

**(Wo)man of my life!**

**(chapter 2)**

Some time later, Naruto woke up with a splitting headache, a churning stomach, a bruise the size of Hokkaido on his forehead and a feeling like he had never been happier in life.

This could have been because he could see the familiar orange walls of his bedroom, which meant that Sasuke was not so angry that he had left him to die at the reception, but rather that he had bothered to call his butler and father-like figure, Iruka, to pick him up.

This could have been because the ice pack carefully placed on his forehead and the home-made hangover remedy fizzing on his bedside table meant that for the time being, Tsunade no baa-chan was home.

But in truth it was because a few seconds before reaching consciousness, his mind had offered him the image of red hair, pale skin and ice blue eyes, and his heart, recognizing the memory, had swelled in joy.

The woman of his life. Now he HAD to find her.

He jumped out of bed (or rather, stumbled out, but it was still in a very spirited fashion) and began to search for his cell phone. Iruka had put his champagne-soaked clothes away, but his watch and cell phone were set on a low table.

Naruto snatched up the device, hoping that Sasuke left him a heated message full of abuse and hopefully, information about the red head beauty.

Bingo. Nevertheless, he had to briefly put away his phone to drink Tsunade's remedy, because Sasuke's screeching voice was a bit too much on his hangover-suffering brain.

He went back to Sasuke's message, and felt his eyes widen. There, amongst the reproaches, Sasuke was telling him that the angel was actually his _boss_.

Wow. He should _really_ be grateful that Sasuke had not left him to die, and had not even tried to finish the job out of anger.

He felt his insides bubbling in excitement. He had already found her! It HAD to be fate, and for once, it was smiling at him.

Now he had to see his best friend and convince him to arrange a meeting with his boss. Hm. Easier said than done; after all, he hadn't been an exemplary date and Sasuke was probably still a bit sore about it.

He rushed to the bathroom for a quick bout of washing. Then he called the Uchiha heir.

Sasuke answered quickly. "YOU-"

"Sasuke, I need your help!" Naruto interrupted. He SO didn't have the time to let the other man build up a steam.

"After last night?! Get lost." _Beep, beep…_

Naruto frowned. He hated having the phone hung up on him. Any other day, he would have shouted the raven haired man's ears off, but said man had his future happiness lying in his susceptible hands.

He called back, but switching to his office number. The Uchiha would not pick up otherwise.

"Sasukeeee" he whined, only to hear the receiver being slammed down.

Okay, that leaves only one option: fighting dirty.

"_Teme, either u talk 2__ me or I come 2 ur office & bug all ur colleagues till I find where u hiding. And I'll use 'those photos'. :) __Luv u. XXX" _

He sent the text. Barely a minute later, his cell phone was playing the opening of 'Caramelldansen' and Sasuke's moody face was flashing on his screen. He flipped it open.

"What do you fucking want?" Sasuke spat.

"Please, Sasuke, it's important" Naruto decided a bit of grovelling wouldn't be amiss there. 'I really, really need your help! Can we meet up for lunch somewhere?"

There was a long silence, then…

"In half an hour, meet me in front of Sabaku Corps Tower. Don't be late, because I won't wait for you." He hung up before Naruto had time to answer.

Naruto grinned, inwardly doing a victory dance. Then he rushed off to his car, nearly knocking over a bewildered Iruka in his haste.

Time to conquer the woman of his life!

OOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOO

Half an hour later, Naruto was bouncing impatiently in front of Sabaku Corps. In his hand was dangling a bag containing Sasuke's favorite salad from Laverdure (lettuce, eggplant and mushroom, olive oil dressing apart) that had been bought as a peace offering.

He was busy craning his neck in every direction trying to see if he could spot Her amidst the people going in and out of the building, when Sasuke finally exited the edifice, a scowl on his handsome features.

The raven haired man immediately grabbed his friend by the elbow and steered him toward the doors, all the while hissing quietly at him:

"Don't talk to anybody, keep your head down, and hurry up."

Naruto rolled his eyes upwards at his friend's paranoia but did as told.

They reached the elevators and Sasuke batted his hands away when he asked what floor he was in.

"Don't, dobe, that blasted device will get you stuck between levels for ten minutes if you push more than three buttons at once, or just breathe hard at it."

Since they were alone and Sasuke had let go a bit of his murderous aura (he probably had spotted the Laverdure bag) Naruto piped up.

"Teme…I'm er, sorry for last night…"

Sasuke held up a hand. "DON'T remind me, I'm just lucky my superior didn't investigate to see who was accompanying the assaulting moron who ended up on the buffet table!"

Naruto just kept his gaze locked on his shoes, afraid that Sasuke would take wrongly the giddy expression that crossed his face at the mention of his boss.

The elevator's doors opened, and the Uchiha heir led him to his spacious office. Naruto had to bite back a laugh when his friend started to close the curtains, blocking the view of his place –and the blonde sitting inside- from anyone passing the corridor. Instead, he took the food off the bag, smiling a bit at the hungry gleam in Sasuke's eyes when he noticed the two raspberry and chocolate fondants.

Naruto never cared to remember the technicalities of Sasuke's job, but he knew that he had quite a big position in a company linked with fashion products. And, like every person who was more or less in contact with the world of La Mode, he had grown extremely self conscious about his looks and unfortunately, his weight.

This meant that the raven haired man lived mostly on coffee and salads. But with the typical hypocrisy of people forced on a diet, he would wolf down every sugary or grease-laced threat that Naruto would bring, all the while claiming that it was out of politeness.

Naruto watched with a grin as he friend began to consume his salad at lightning speed. He did not eat himself, he was too excited for that, and the happy butterflies fluttering in his stomach might not want to share the space.

Sasuke finally put away his plastic fork to glance at his friend.

"So, apologies aside," a glare. "What brings you here?"

"I need you to help me conquer-" He flashed his friend a bright smile. "-the woman of my life!"

He was rewarded by a sharp poke on the nose via plastic fork.

"For God's sake, Naruto!" Sasuke exclaimed. "I told you, stop saying that about every woman you met! For one, it's ludicrous! And you freak them out! Look at Sakura, and Tenten!"

"Hey!" the blonde roared. "First, I never considered Tenten that way, t'was a mistake, dating her…" He slumped on his seat. "As for Sakura…well, she never gave me a chance, eh?"

His friend let out an exasperated sigh. "Because" he enunciated "you freaked her out, with all your proposals of life-long commitment when you were fucking fifteen! And" he added warily. "How does 'conquering' your obsession concern me now?"

Naruto gave him his trademark foxy grin. "Because I've already found her! She works for your company!"

A look of wariness crossed Sasuke's handsome face. "Please don't ask me to set you with some poor woman…I'd feel like a judge sentencing someone innocent to jail." He started to inch the napkin with Naruto's fondant closer to him. The blond tugged it back with a frown. "And I thought you found the women at yesterday's reception uninteresting?"

"Yes, but not her!" the blonde's eyes seemed to glow with an internal fire, as he half rose from his seat, one fist clenched in an fervent pose. "She's gorgeous, and strong, and fierce! She had the most beautiful eyes I ever saw! And she's…she's…just so great!" he flailed his arms wildly, words failing to express his excitement.

The Uchiha heir swallowed a mouthful of Naruto's fondant and shook his head, amused in spite of himself. He had to admit, even his own shrivelled cynical black heart felt touched by his friend's enthusiasm. Sasuke believed as much in eternal love as he believed in the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus, but if there was someone able to make him consider that it was remotely possible, it was Naruto. The guy had a gift to convert people to his ridiculous ideas.

"Doesn't remind me of anyone here." He commented instead. "Are you sure she's working for Sabaku corps?"

The blonde wiggled his eyebrows. "That's what you told me." Seeing Sasuke's dubious face, he added. "Come on, I'll help you. She has red hair, blue eyes and the sexiest body ever!"

The raven haired man shook his head. "No, that doesn't ring…" then his face turned blank, and an expression of both dawning realization and horror started to form. "You- you don't mean…"

"Yep!" said his friend, all foxy grin and totally clueless. "I mean your boss!"

Sasuke stared at him for long, still with his "Oh My God it's a train wreck!" face, then Naruto witnessed something he wouldn't have thought possible.

Uchiha Sasuke began to laugh.

Not a chuckle, not his 'haughty snort' laugh, but a real, full-fledged one, soon complete with teary eyes and red face.

Naruto was starting to feel a bit eerie. For once, Sasuke's laugh was creepy. It sounded like the love child of a dying vulture and a donkey in rut. No wonder his friend never laughed: that kind of honking cackle was better kept private.

And most of all, he did not understand why Sasuke laughed at all. If anything, he had expected him to be freaked out about his boss, his job, possible repercussions and promotions…in other words, the boring stuff.

"Sasuke?" he finally asked. "Are you alright? What's wrong?"

His friend snorted, dabbing his eyes with his fondant stained napkin. "Wrong, indeed." Then he exploded in the gales of laughter once more.

"Shit, Sasuke, what the fuck?" asked an angry –and worried- Naruto.

"Aah, my friend" exhaled a slightly breathless Uchiha. "I've b-begun to understand your peculiar taste for tomboyish, hehe, women…Tenten, Sakura …not the most feminine kind of girls, now are they?"

Naruto crossed his arms, the uneasy feeling gaining up on him. "Yeah, so what?"

Sasuke put the napkin away, a smirk on his lips. "You're right; the red head you set your views on is indeed my boss."

His smile grew wider, taking a wicked edge around the corners.

"My very, undoubtedly, a hundred percent certified _male_ cross dresser boss."

TBC

**Voilà**** (guess you didn't see that one coming, lol)! Next is Gaara's chapter!**

**Ah yes, an element inspired from Queentigris' series of drabbles 'A Nightly Friend' is hiding in that chapter… will you be able find it? A drabble written by yours truly(with your own prompt and pairing) for the first who can! I must admit, it's not easy.**

**People, if you don't like –or if you like- my story, please tell me so in a review! The author loves to hear about you guys! (or else she grows all ansty and starts talking about herself using third person...) **


	3. Chapter 3

**Big Thanks to Eternity-chou, ****who, alas, is going to flunk her year because of her dedication to her beta duties. \wince/**

_**Heh heh...it's only been four weeks, chill out. Go practice your English. **_

**I'm afraid this chapter is not as funny as the others. It can****'t be helped, it is Gaara's chapter, and he's usually not a very funny guy! But blaming it on Gaara only would be unfair: I'm also entering the 'romantic' part of the 'romantic comedy' I wanted to write… the fun is over, ladies!**

_**Awww...ed-kun has a soft side 3**_**… says the girl with a cat-o-nine tails behind her back, ready to tenderize me even more! :'(**

**(Wo)man of my life!**

**Chapter 3**

'Caramelldansen' was not the kind of alarm bell that could be ignored for long, no matter how asleep one was. It's taken less than 5 seconds for Gaara to switch from more-or-less sleeping to ready to scream bloody murder.

One pale hand shot from under the bed sheets and groped the surface of the bedside table, pushing aside sleeping tablets, empty wine glasses, some change and various pieces of jewelry until it finally latched on a slim black cell phone, and flipped it open.

With blood red hair pointing in all directions and teal eyes foggy in both anger and sleep, Sabaku no Gaara emerged from under his silky covers.

"The fuck, Kankuro! Stop messing with my bloody ringtone!" he snarled.

He heard the quiet laugh of his older brother, who obviously could still manage to pull a stupid prank and grate on his nerves while being on the other side of the planet.

"Sorry, little bro." he answered, not sounding the least apologetic. "I had to pick one I was sure you couldn't sleep through."

Gaara grunted, absentmindedly adjusting the strap of his cream coloured negligee.

"So, how did it go?" he asked.

"Nicely. Nearly every person we invited was there, plus some nice additions."

Gaara listened to his brother's report. If Temari's cold business genius made her the top executive of Sabaku Corps while Gaara, the genial stylist, was in charge of designing their product line, Kankuro was undoubtedly their field man. He was good at charming and manipulating people and forging strong ties, commercial or further, with them.

They had sent him to organize the opening of their new shop in Paris, Bd Saint Honoré. Though they already have, like any self-respecting fashion brand, a shop in Saint Germain, le boulevard Saint Honoré was where the money was. Kankurou would ensure that all the right people would be there for the grand opening.

The red head reached for his cigarette case. He lit one and deeply inhaled the sweet toxic fumes.

"Gaara, are you smoking again?!" his brother's sharp tone sliced abruptly through his conscience.

"Absolutely not!" he lied, while guiltily stubbing the burning end of his cig on his mule's heel.

He didn't really smoke…. And more than ever not when Temari and Kankuro were nearby and discreetly sniffing at his hair.

"Hm," said Kankuro "and how was last night for you?"

"Boring." he answered, his automatic response for any kind of event in which he had to play his part as the Sabaku heir. Damn Temari and her deadly PMSing mood swings that forced him to cover for her. Then a memory rose to the surface of his mind, of blond hair, blue eyes and alcoholic breath.

"There was that guy…" his hand went up to cradle his shoulder, a bit strained from moving the hulking mass of the assaulting blond. "He was a bit too familiar…I beat him up."

"A guy? From our company? Did he hurt you?" Gaara rolled his eyes at his brother's tone. First the smoke, now this. Kankuro could be oddly overprotective, especially considering that they had not been on speaking terms less than a decade ago.

"Not from the company, no, and it's alright, he was drunk, but totally inoffensive" '_If damn heavy'_. "He did not hurt me."

In fact, sore shoulder apart, Gaara probably hurt him more. Particularly if you took in account the humiliation that guy would felt once he'll sober up enough to realize that: a) he had been flirting with a guy in a dress b) he had been totally owned by a guy in a dress.

That kind of thought would usually bring a smirk on Gaara's lips but now he felt strangely… sad.

This guy's eyes… they have been burning with a flame he usually associated with Lee-san's passionate speeches about the joy of sports. He had watched him with such intensity, with burning eyes that were seemingly looking right at the core of him and apparently loving what they saw. Gaara felt a shudder travel up his spine at the memory of that heated stare.

'_Must be nice,_' he thought, a tad bitterly '_to be looked at that way, on a regular basis." _Of course, that blond had been a complete drunk cretin, but Gaara couldn't help but feel slightly jealous of the girl he would finally choose to love.

"Gaara, you still here?" His brother's voice brought the redhead abruptly back to present.

"When will you be back?" he pinched the bridge of his nose. '_Focus,_' he thought '_No time to brood today, you're meeting the Italians at two, and they'll eat you alive if you're not careful.'_

"Tomorrow eve. Temari gave me a foot long shopping list before I went, care to add something? Oh wait," Kankuro added, his voiced laced with amusement. "I passed Chantal Thomass' shop today. I think I'm going to pick you a surprise."

Gaara felt a prickle of heat color his cheeks. Over protectiveness apart, there were undoubtedly some perks in having a brother that knew your tastes enough to pick tasteful underwear for you.

"If you have the time." He answered, trying not to show his eagerness at the idea of putting his hands on one of Thomass' sinful black corsets. Judging by the slight chuckle that escaped his brother, he had totally failed.

After a few more exchanges, Gaara finally hung up. He looked with regrets at his rumpled –but inviting- bed; even though he was not a heavy sleeper, it did not mean that he did not appreciate lounging in it with a book or his sketchpad. He sighed; today he was not allowed too: he has to kick some business men's asses, in lieu of Temari.

He rose from the bed, pushing the slim and slippery fabric of his nightshirt over his head and letting it fall on the wooden floor for Genma, his male cleaning maid, to pick up.

Completely naked save for his mules, he padded across his bedroom to join the adjacent bathroom. He stalked directly toward the large shower stall, not sparing one glance to his reflection in the mirror. Then he turned the handles of the shower to full blast, letting the scalding hot water chase away the last grogginess clinging to his mind before the soap and shampoo took a more active role in chasing away the grit and the smell of smoke acquired the evening before.

He finally stepped out of the shower, drying himself on a fluffy white towel that he carelessly dropped, still for Genma to find. The mirror was now covered with fog, blurring everything beyond recognition, so Gaara felt comfortable enough to linger a bit in the bathroom and brush his teeth and put on some moisturizing cream.

Once done with his ablutions, he quietly reached the favorite part of his apartment: his walk-in closet. It was not as much a walk-in closet as an independent room, if one were to judge by its size. Gaara had to sacrifice the guest room to achieve enough space for his ever-growing collection of clothes, shoes, and underwear. Of course, between keeping a room to host a very much hypothetical friend and preventing his precious wardrobes from being crammed in an unfitting closet, the choice had not been that hard.

He knelt before his underwear drawers, eyeing the little heaps of satin, silk and lace with a slight smile, until his mouth curled in a more contemplative frown. What to wear? Since he had to meet some business men today, he'll avoid wearing his most feminine articles of clothing. Not out of shame, but because even if most people expected eccentricities from a well-known fashion designer (like pearl earrings, kilt wearing, lacy gloves and fans…) they still weren't prepared for one going to full-woman attire.

Furthermore, it would be tiring to have them gawking at him the whole afternoon. He HAD to make progress in the negotiations of those damn contracts or Temari would go after his ass.

That meant that he'll have to tone down a bit his outfit today… but he fully intend to compensate by wearing extravagant underwear.

His eyes shone when he finally came across the pair he was looking for. He held them up with a flourish: it was indeed one of the most flamboyant pair of boxers he owned, if only by their colours. For once, they were pink, a color he usually found hideous everywhere except on the top of Dr. Haruno's head. It was not a mute, flesh, or old rose pink, but a vibrant one, that should clash with his vermillion hair but strangely didn't.

They were made of silk, and shaped like a mini skirt, with a few layers of wavy cloths adorning it. They bunched up nicely on his rear, giving the illusion of a shapely bottom, which was appreciable, because if Gaara has to admit that there was one area of his body that needed encouragement, it was his ass, which might be a teensy bit on the scrawny side.

He pulled them on, a tiny sigh of appreciation escaping his lips at the feel of silk on his skin. Then he fished for a matching pair of stockings, and found a pair of light taupe ones with a violet lacy top and slipped into them with a quickness and efficiency that would have made the most veteran lingerie model whistle in appreciation.

He clipped them to the pink suspenders adorning his boxers, and sauntered toward the part of the room where he kept his more…manly garments. He wrinkled his nose at the various suits hanging in front of him. They were all very fine –hell, he had created them, of course they were- but he was definitely uncomfortable wearing them. After some pondering, he selected a pair of light grey pants with thin white strips, and the matching three buttons jacket.

He was about to take them when he noticed a shape behind the suits. There, laying abandoned in a place where its owner did not often wandered, was the first item of clothing –or rather, accessory- he created. The calabash-shaped bag was worn-out and threadbare, just like the soul of the boy who had once sewn it together in Suna's House for Juvenile Offenders, and stuffed with all the remains of that boy's life.

Gaara watched it for a moment, wondering why he couldn't find the courage to throw it away, before silently pushing the door close. He forcefully brought his mind back to the present, and moved toward the place where the only item of clothing that would make wearing the suit bearable was.

It was a blood-red waistcoat, made in thick satin and for a woman to wear -obviously; a man's one wouldn't dip so low in the back and would have short sleeves. That waistcoat only had two large buttons in front, and a collard to maintain it up. It left the shoulders and most of his back bare, which was how Gaara liked it best. It would still give him an androgynous look, only morphing to professional once he put the jacket –something he'll do only for the meeting.

He quickly put on his clothes, and walked back to the bathroom.

Ventilation had kicked in and the fog had completely left the mirror, but it did not bother him; once he had his clothes, he did not avoid his reflection.

Sure enough, the redhead man looking back at him was eons away from the angry and wild and pathetic boy he previously had been, unloved by the two persons who should have cherished him the most, and loved by another for very, very wrong reasons.

Though, maybe because of his unwilling encounter with the remains of his past or the fact that his figure was more boyish than usual, he felt some disquiet rose in him, the uneasy feeling showing up in his eyes and briefly clouding his brilliant jade eyes in familiar pain.

He shook himself, and deliberately carried on with his morning routine, intent on broadening the wedge between himself and the ghost he could see in the mirror. First, he combed his hair, and then fluffed it a bit with his fingers. He had considered letting it grow, just because he would have a considerably larger choice of hairstyles. He gave up upon realizing that he had inherited the same kind of hair as Temari, which meant his locks wouldn't grow into a slick, docile and shiny mane that could be tamed into nearly everything, but rather into wild curls that could only be disciplined through gravity-defying hairstyles, such as -shudders- four ponytails.

Besides, he thought that he was mistaken for a girl enough as it was. Despite loving women's clothes, and wearing them on a regular basis, he strongly disliked being taken for one. It was mostly due to the fact that in nearly everyone's mind –even girls'- lingered the notion that any female trait was tainted with _weakness_.

Of course, that was pure crap. Anyone who knew his older sister couldn't nurse that kind of ideas for long. The eldest Sabaku fought dirtier and meaner than a whole team of testosterone-riddled rugby players. But Gaara did not care for being even_ thought_ of as weak, so he made no special effort to appear overly feminine, never trying to soften his voice or curb his rude manners. Well, if being feminine was mistaken for being soft-spoken, sweet-mannered, smiling and well-behaved, then Gaara was undoubtedly male. But then again, if you followed that logic, so was Temari.

He let go of his hair and turned to his favourite activity: the make-up. First came the eyeliner, hiding the ever-present bruises around his eyes, born from too little sleep and natural paleness, the kind that give bags easily. He could have used concealing stuff, but the kohl was also helping for his lack of eyebrows, preventing his face for being too bland from its lack of colors, while deepening and enhancing his pale jade stare. Today he even added a bit of eye shadow, going for a 'smoke eye' look that was fitting for his androgynous outfit.

Then would come the tattoo, and whether he wanted it covered or not. His own aesthetician had refused to sell him foundation, explaining that selling something that would cover his perfect skin would be against –of all things- deontology. Gaara had pointed at his tattoo and the professional had finally relented and directed him toward heavy concealing products. But that was still a bit of work, so the 'Ai' symbol had become the distinctive mark of Gaara the Stylist, and the days where he chose to conceal it, he would wear it on other part of his body; discreetly painted on a nail or in bold, red strokes across his whole face. Today he chose to let it show on his forehead, and even highlighted it with a bit of red glitter paint.

He would finally finish up with the lipstick, or rather, its absence of it. With his naturally full lips and heart-shaped face, the redhead thought that painted lips made him look like a whore. He usually settled for a beige or flesh-coloured gloss, like today, or just a bit of chapstick.

He set to work, his motions quick and efficient but also careful and, well, caring. For Gaara, make-up was the quintessence of 'prettying up', and he relished in it. It was astonishing for him that people thought women to be the most selfless creatures, the image of devotion, when they invented such a morning ritual, something that was the ultimate homage one can pay to their own bodies. Each stroke of the brush on his eyelid, each sweep of gloss across his lips; in his mind it was like a caress to his ego, another stone to help build the image of himself that was in his head.

Quickly, that image began to take form in the mirror. Gone the pathetic boy, loved by no one, feared by everyone: now staring back at him was Sabaku no Gaara, designer extraordinaire, successful owner of his own brand at the tender age of twenty three, and feared but respected co-owner of Sabaku Corps. He lifted his chin, the hint of a smile tugging the corners of his lips up: and he was damn sexy to boot. His mind called back the memory of the blonde man with burning eyes, and he gave a real smile while a -this time, pleasant- shudder traveled up his spine. Now he can see why that man had looked at him in such a way.

He turned his face, left and right, to survey his handiwork, and adjust one last time his clothes, straightening up the collard, smoothing a crease…He checked his ass in the mirror and nodded. Time to go.

He chose the most depressing pair of shoes he owned, a pair of Gucci (what else for a grey suit?) that looked out of place next to his buoyant Manolos and Louboutins. He picked up a Sabaku handbag, one with the stylised hourglass that served as a logo for the brand on the handle, and large enough to contain his whole life, namely, his mobile, a novel, his organizer, a small sketchpad, a small mirror, a few mints…

He left his apartment and called a cab. It took him the whole route to listen to the message his sister left him, full of instructions and general nagging about the afternoon's meeting, then to read the texts she wrote after she exploded for good his voicemail.

He was just done and closing his cell phone when he passed the threshold of Sabaku Corps' building. Momentary distracted, he failed to see the tall figure that was ready to leave the edifice. Only when two strong hands closed on his bare shoulders, preventing him from bumping in their owner, he looked up, startled.

His eyes were suddenly locked with familiar, deep blue ones.

-TBC-

**Wow. At some point I was afraid that this chapter was going to be the shortest… and it's the longest. Oh, well, Gaara had little screentime till now, hadn't he? XD**

**And Gaara has the same ringtone as Naruto… I'm not growing senile; it's a plot device in case I decided to write the half-formed sequel that's in my mind (just like the too-sensible elevator from the previous chapter).**

**Anyway, next chapter is… the last! That is, unless I wrote the sequel.**

**See you next time! Don't forget to show your appreciation of Gaara's panties and REVIEW!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Welcome to the last part of (wo)man of my life! I'd like to thank all my reviewers, from FFnet and AFFnet! You guys rock! Special thanks to Meli-chan and Archaic Rose who bumped into my other stories to leave reviews like 'Great story… btw don't forget to update (wo)man of my life!' ****That made me laughs! ^_^ \ruffles their hair/ . Well, there it is girls, and I'm sorry for the delay, but Inner Obstacle was the priority! **

**Thank you to eternity-chan, who beta'ed from under her mountain of college homework!**

_**CCE: no problem, darling. Anything to get away from homework...**_

**Note:**** The last scene was actually the first that popped in my mind, and triggered the whole fic. (so yeah, this story kind of write itself backward)… but I love describing Gaara through Naruto's eyes… so cheesy!**

**Note 2****: I'm being a super naughty girl and I don't have the double beta stamp of approval on this. Because a) Poor Pamymousse is so much buried in her homework I can't even hear her distant sobbing, b) It's starting to be too much of a while since my last update. So, I'm posting tonight. Tell me if there's remaining mistakes!**

* * *

**(Wo)man of my life!**

**Chapter 4**

"My very, undoubtedly, one hundred percent certified male cross dresser boss."

Naruto's blue eyes went wide, and Sasuke's smile broadened in equal proportions. He waited for the inevitable screech of "WHAAAAT???" and jaw-slacked expression of disbelief –the one he received when he told the dobe he was gay. What came instead was…

"Tell me you're joking."

Sasuke looked up, startled. Naruto's voice was vibrant and slightly rough, like it always was when the idiot was really serious. Sasuke felt the smile slip off his lips, uneasiness growing as the blond leaned forward, his eyes devoid of anything saved for the fixed intensity he was now bestowing on Sasuke.

And suddenly, the Uchiha heir really wished to be, indeed, joking. Because the amusing outcome he had first envisioned, which involved Naruto growing embarrassed and yelling and flailing his arms right and left to cover it, just like he did when Sai teased him about penis sizes and the like, was starting to look very unlikely.

But no matter what he wished, there was only one answer available. He fidgeted a bit with his napkin, no longer comfortable watching his friend's face.

"Erm… no, I'm not. Sabakuno Gaara –that's his name- is our designer here, for Sabaku." He raised his eyes in time to see the intense glint die in Naruto's eyes, leaving them blank and empty, and he plunged in, now a bit upset and angry at the blonde for being so damn _oblivious_.

"Shit, dobe, the guy's famous, nearly as much for the clothes he wears than the ones he creates. Before him, Sabaku was just an aging brand specialized in travel accessories! Now it's like…the top of the trend! You can't tell me you've never heard of him!"

He pivoted on his chair and rummaged through a stack of glossy papers piled on a nearby shelf, until he found the one he was looking for. It was a fashion magazine, not quite the Bible and the One whose commandments every fashion industries followed with something akin to religious fervour, but quite close. He flipped over the pages until he found the one he was looking for: an article about the Sabaku Corps stylist.

Sasuke vividly remembered that piece of writing because he had been the one dealing directly with the journalist. Translation: he had been the one to serve as a bridge (and a shield, though the whiny woman in charge of the paper had been oblivious of that) between Gaara and her. He had to ask her to send the questions, then fax them back once Gaara was done answering them –and after Temari made some necessary editing.

Those were the oldest Sabakuno's orders: never let Gaara alone with a member of the press. Not only does her little brother have the social attitude of a boar with rabies, he also has the communication skills of an autistic oyster.

That was not always the case; of course, when the 'Bible' had expressed the desire to have an interview and a shooting with the young but rising stylist, Gaara had complied. Or rather, Temari had. She and Kankuro had dragged a very tamed –or, as most Sabaku Corp. employers thought, very high- and thoroughly coached Gaara into the expensive suite rented especially for the occasion, for a twenty minute interview followed by a shooting done by none other than Bettina Rheims.

The results had been a quadruple page interview filled with typical bland journalistic questions and equally uninteresting answers, though the shots made up for that. The central one showed Gaara lounging in an armchair in the suite, looking straight at the photograph with a smile –hence the 'OMG he was HIGH theory'-. The blue tones of the suite, coupled with the stylist's own grey and white dress, had given to the picture an overall metallic quality that only served to highlight Gaara's flaming red hair and bold red tattoo.

It had been a real good photo, whereas the one illustrating the article he had shoved at Naruto had much less artistic purpose: the magazine had to resort to a picture taken on a public exhibition, since the picky designer refused to have his face captured in privacy if it was not done by an -at least- internationally renowned photograph. In that one, Gaara was not smiling –as usual- and slightly scowling at whoever had taken the photo –as us… ah, no, if it was 'slightly' then it was definitely not usual-, his brother Kankuro next to him with an arm around his shoulders.

Gaara had been wearing woman clothes: high boots in brown leather and a light green dress short enough for every interested onlooker –Sasuke included- to wish for an impudent wind to blow the hem a bit higher. However the text captioned under the picture ("Infamous cross dresser stylist Sabakuno Gaara during Celine's fashion show") left no doubts as for the sexual gender of the red head.

Sasuke watched anxiously as Naruto peered at the article. He saw his friend's face briefly set in harsh lines, and then he finally closed his eyes and resolutely pushed the paper away.

He stayed still for a moment, a moment during which Sasuke had plenty of time to fret inwardly; last time he had seen Naruto with such a vacant expression had been at Jiraya's funeral, and didn't have a fond memory of the months that had followed for the dobe. He knew he was a less than stellar friend sometimes (he had himself brought on a couple of occasions a similar expression on the blonde's face), but he still was good enough to see when Naruto was truly upset –as it was the case, right now- and to care.

He gathered his courage and leaned toward the young man. "Naruto…"

The blonde made a jerky kind of motion at his friend's voice, and immediately rose from his chair, one hand scratching the back of his head and a big smile plastered on his face.

"Well, that was quite the mistake, huh?" he blabbered on, not waiting for an answer. "Sorry I bothered you…I'll let myself out."

Yes, in his own twisted, egoistical way, Sasuke was a good friend, or at least, the kind that could see the difference between Naruto's normal, cheery grin, the one infectious enough to send tendrils of warm caress the Uchiha's icy soul, and that pale copy of it, all teeth and no mirth.

He rose from his chair as well. "Listen, dobe…"

But Naruto was already at the door, and didn't stop to listen. The metallic shutters made a clanking sound against the glass, and his tall silhouette was not visible anymore.

Yet Sasuke kept staring at his office's entry a long time after his friend had departed.

He finally gathered the remains of his lunch and chunked it angrily into his bin, appetite lost.

Stupid dobe.

OOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOO

'Stupid, stupid, stupid…'

That was what Naruto's mind kept telling him, a never-ending scream of self-loathing and scorn rising from the very dark bottom of his soul, the one which never lost an occasion to whisper things like 'worthless', 'unloved', 'laughable' and poison his psyche, trying to make his blood boil and drag him down, down to where they ceased to be words and became truths.

Naruto took a huge mental breath and tried- a reflex honed in now- to will away that self-destructing path of thoughts, because self-pity achieves nothing and it was SO not like him. Still it was a wasted effort: it was still too soon to quiet the maelstrom of emotions swirling in him.

It had been a good ten minutes since Sasuke had basically confirmed that he had been an idiotic fool as always and yet his stupid, stupid, stupid heart still refused to believe it.

It hadn't believed Sasuke when he had first said that the woman of his life was actually a man, and his heart had wrenched apart when it understood that the bastard was not playing one of his lunar-eclipse-rare unfunny jokes, and _still_ it had roared in jealousy when he had seen, on the photo, some ugly moron wrapping a familiar arm around what it considered to be _*his*._

Stupid, stupid, stupid heart.

He made his way to the elevators, entering the first one that opened and heading straight for a corner, not even caring to push the button for ground level. He slumped against the wall of the cabin and closed his eyes. The workers around him kept glancing at him, probably watching his general rumpled state and the huge bruise on his forehead with suspicion, but he didn't even feel, least of all notice, the stares. His mind was entirely focused on tumbling down a darkening trail of thoughts.

How could he have been so wrong? It had not been a mere physical attraction…when she, no he, had looked at him that night, he had felt something within him, some recognition, some pull…something he had never quite felt before, even when he had been at the top of his infatuation for Sakura.

Had that, too, been a sham, just like the disguise of a woman Sasuke's boss felt compelled to don? Had it been just the effect of the alcohol he had consumed in too large quantities? Was it some side-effect of his lonely heart realizing that he had spend nearly a decade running after the wrong woman, or maybe a consequence of loosing his last blood relative not too long ago, that made him chase desperately after some love?

His thoughts, and lingering inward cries of self-doubts, were drowned away by a fresh wave of sorrow as the truth of Sasuke's word sank in his stupid heart which had finally stopped its denial. He had been wrong, then. The person he had seen had not been the woman of his life. He had been chasing after an illusion, someone who did not even exist.

He opened his eyes, trying to dispel the image of a face he had thought as the prettiest he had laid his eyes on and a gaze he would have happily been lost in. His unseeing look suddenly caught on the dusty pot plants and depressingly bland furniture usually associated with business building entrances: he was back on ground level. He squeezed his way out of the elevator, his slumped figure still imposing enough to make a short work of the crowd of people returning from lunch break.

He edged toward the double doors, still deep in thoughts, which was probably why he didn't see the person barreling toward him until the last second. He only had time to get the feeling that someone was too busy juggling with a cell phone, a handbag, a jacket and the heavy glass door to watch were they were going, before his hands moved on their own accord to rest on soft bare shoulders, stopping their owner before he knocked them both over.

At this, the person finally deigned looking up at him, and all of a sudden Naruto felt light-headed.

It was Her!

Up this close, her eyes were not ice blue, as he had thought. A smattering of luminous emerald flecks peppered the pale cerulean iris, giving them a brilliant aquamarine tone that was only emphasized by the dark circles drawn around her eyes.

Up this close, he could see how perfect that smooth pale skin was, unmarred save for that stylish tattoo, which along with the blood red hair, only served to bring out its creamy undertone. Naruto's right hand, which had flown up to stop the imposing door before it slammed in their faces, was itching to go back to the warm and silky shoulder while the left one was _fighting_ not to roam and explore a bit more.

Up this close… up this close…

Up this close, he could make out all the little tell-tale signs, the ones that he hadn't seen before, the ones that were difficult to pull apart but together pointed out that _she_ was a _he_.

The familiar grief abruptly swarming him was even worse the second time around, because there, for a moment, he had truly forgotten all about it, all about his broken heart, and had been swept away by…by this person.

He wrenched his gaze away, and locked it on the floor. Gripping the door, he released his hold on the shoulder and stepped away from h…him.

"Sorry," he mumbled, eyes still averted, not wanting to see what the pale green orbs reflected now.

But the person –_'Sabakuno Gaara'_, his mind whispered- did not move.

Naruto's stare was trained on the dark, elegant, _male_ shoes of the designer while silence and time stretched grotesquely around him, weighing him down and suffocating him until he was ready to…

"I see."

Naruto felt his whole body flinch at the dismissing scorn in that voice, the condemnation behind it, falling, precise and cutting, in two mere words.

Before he had time to react, the designer had moved forward again toward the inside of the building, and, not bothering to go around the blonde, merely knocked him aside. The movement was slight because Naruto had earlier mostly stepped out of the way, but it nevertheless nearly send him tumbling on the floor, so strong was the blast of contempt the redhead sent his way.

This was too much. He raised his head, a plea on his lips – irrationally, he didn't want Sasuke's boss, no, Gaara, to think ill of him- when his eyes were caught by a patch of white.

There, amidst the crowd, was…was… the same vision that, last night, had shot straight past his brain to lodge deeply into his heart, and started nesting from there.

His eyes tried to follow the graceful line of his spine up to his long neck. His mouth went dry, because the poised movements of the redhead were causing all sort of interesting effects on his back: a tightening of slim muscles here, the bump of a vertebrae there, and overall, that smooth skin, shining the muted light of satin and catching his breath away.

But Naruto's mind wasn't only focused on the sight of the redhead's skin. He also noticed how the shoulders and upper back moved, shifting from contracted to relaxed, and how the spine slowly straightened, and the chin raised; with some deep-level intuition, his mind realized what the designer was –mentally- doing.

He was shaking him off. Yes, Naruto had probably humiliated him and maybe even hurt him a bit, but he was damn if he was going to let some idiot ruin his day. He had seen worse from life and cretins like him were barely worth the two seconds it took to put them down.

Or so his posture said.

Naruto watched the proud stance of the designer as he walked away from him, and how the crowd –consciously or not- seemed to part before him, just like at the party, where the men he was talking to had all been keeping a respectful distance from him.

Oh yes, he, Naruto, had been a fool. An idiot, a cretin who really deserved to be scorned, because he had missed some serious evidence, that this short encounter had driven right back home.

It was still Her.

Just, he was a He.

And to think, he had nearly denied his attraction, denied his love and fuck, nearly denied _Gaara_'s existence because of that stupid detail? …just a stupid, irrelevant point now that he was confronted with the reality that was Gaara. It was just the same gracious figure and beautiful features he remembered, and the same fascinating personality he could feel beneath it all. But, most importantly, it was the same pull, the same link, that he felt drawing him toward the redhead, tugging more and more as the distance between them grew further and further.

Naruto's whole bearing started to change, as his thoughts progressed through that path. His body, previously slumped and the very image of indifference toward the world, began to straighten, and his shoulders began to broaden while his vice-grip hold on the door loosened as he turned to better follow the designer with his eyes.

Eyes that beforehand had been just like polished and lifeless sapphires, whose depths were animated only by a swirling cloud of painful confusion, were now shining like lanterns, alight with an internal fire awakened from ashes that had never had time to grow cold.

And, probably in response to that intense, burning cerulean blue gaze, the purposeful strides that the stylist was taking away from Naruto progressively began to falter. He took one or two more hesitant steps then stopped, probably peeved by the look that was drilling a hole in his back.

With the hesitant air of someone who thought he had heard his name called from afar, Sabakuno Gaara turned his head toward Naruto.

The blond met his eyes dead-on, and answered the slightly uncertain and angry glare with a heated look of his own. The designer immediately whipped his face away from him and resumed walking, but not before Naruto had time to witness two red roses suddenly blooming across pale cheeks…and wasn't he going a lot faster than before?

A big, happy –and slightly predatory- smile stretched Naruto's lips, making his eyes crinkle into those typical foxy slits. He finally let go of the door, turning his whole attention, his whole being, toward Gaara as he set to pursue the flustered redhead.

Time to conquer the man of his life!

-The End-

**Yes, the end. There's no 'Naruto courting Gaara' because that was not what this story was about**. ^^

**Maybe there will be a 'Naruto courting Gaara' phase latter on, but we'll see. I'd like to write about the stuck elevator scene, the –traumatic- crash-course in gay sex given to Naruto by Sasuke and Sai**** bit, and the 'freak Kankuro' part amongst others, but for now I'll just bask into the happiness that is a 'completed' fic.**

**Anyway, let me know what you think and don't forget to REVIEW!**

**And who I am kidding? Naruto is not cheesy. I am.**** And everyone who know why I mentioned Bettina Rheims will earn a golden star.**


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